


Came In From the Outside

by StormLeviosa



Series: The Lowest and Vilest Alleys [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Gotham by Gaslight (2018)
Genre: Absent Parents, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Parenting, Bat Family, Batfamily Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Families of Choice, Family Feels, Fluff, I feel like it's not victorian anymore, I wrote this instead of revising, Jack and Janet's A+ Parenting, Light Angst, Loss of Parent(s), Photography, Stalker Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown is Spoiler, does it still count as victorian?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 11:21:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18964237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormLeviosa/pseuds/StormLeviosa
Summary: Tim's parents are...not around. It's a fact that is known and rarely questioned. But now they're back and all Bruce wants is for all his boys to be safe and together again.





	Came In From the Outside

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone's been following me on tumblr (@storm-leviosa-fanfics if you want to check it out) you'll notice I posted a 6 sentence Sunday from this about 2 weeks ago. It's taken me this long to finish it. I have exams next week. I should be revising. Instead I'm writing 6000 words of batfam fluff and angst because everyone knows that's totally the best thing to do with my time.
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think! Comments, kudos, the usual. Come scream at me on tumblr if you want and I'll try to reply as soon as I'm not buried under uni work with stress coming out of my ears!

Bruce Wayne was rich. It was an undeniable fact of life. The sky was blue (behind the clouds and smog, anyway); the earth was round; Bruce Wayne was rich. He could have whatever he wanted, any toy or trinket, any building or company, any woman - scandalous or otherwise. What he could not have, no matter how much he wanted it, was Timothy Drake. Not forever. Not even Batman could convince the Drakes to let their son go. For once, his blustering, naïve, playboy image was working against him and he hated it. All the money in the world couldn’t make Jack and Janet give Bruce their son.

 

It had all started with a light. They were in the parlour, Jason reading, Dick and Bruce playing checkers, Selina stitching by the fire and Timmy watching the rain fall through the window. It was peaceful. The fire crackled and popped and the lamps flickered and glowed. They did not speak because they did not need to. Occasionally Jason would read out passages of his book and stare pointedly at Bruce when he thought they cut a little close to home or Dick would cheer as he took one of Bruce’s pieces, but for the most part they stayed in companionable silence. Alfred had been in with hot cocoa an hour or so before and the warmth threatened to send Bruce to sleep (if Dick won this game like it seemed he might, Bruce would blame it on exhaustion). Selina stood with the grace and elegance of a cat, laying her sewing down and kissing Bruce on the cheek as she headed off to bed. In all honesty, Bruce was still just as captivated by her as the day they met and their wedding seemed inevitable to him. Selina didn’t want to rush, didn’t want to be tied down too soon, and he loved her enough that he would acquiesce to her desires. He supposed it was a good thing they were waiting. He had a lot to get used to even aside from married life, what with three young boys in his care. In his distraction, Dick had started a slew of acrobatics across the room, mostly on his hands, and Jason had taken it upon himself to make it a competition. A distracted Timmy was the judge. Bruce had to stop this before they accidentally broke his mother’s favourite vase or knocked over the table. “Hey, Tim! What d’you think of my handstand?” CRASH. Too late. With a sigh, he stood and turned to look at the damage. It was only a mug, thank goodness, and his constantly energetic boys were already on the move once more. “Tim? What you looking at, Timbo?” Tim was watching the house opposite with unusual concentration, a frown of concern on his face. Jason was standing behind him, visibly confused as he asked what the problem was.  
“They’ve come back. I didn’t think they ever would.” Bruce followed their gaze to the house on the other side of the wall. A lamp had been lit on the ground floor. Bruce couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen light from that house. He tried to remember who owned it but it had been so long that he’d quite forgotten. He wondered how Tim knew. Tim. Tim was from Gotham’s upper class. Tim knew all the names and all the faces. Tim Drake left his cold and empty manor house because his parents had forgotten his existence. Tim Drake had once lived next door.

 

Tim had once told Bruce he’d left a note just in case his parents ever returned. He couldn’t remember exactly what it said but he’d replaced it when the boys had relocated to Wayne Manor, when they had taken their trip to London, and again when they returned. That had been several months ago and even the best quality paper and ink would be faded and near illegible. Walking past the boys’ room on his way to bed, he heard them whispering to each other. His hand rested on the handle and the urge to open the door, to wish them good night and tell them he loved them, coursed through him stronger than it ever had. But he couldn’t do that to them, couldn’t interrupt their last moments of brotherly bonding before Timmy’s parents inevitably came for their wayward child. He continued on down the corridor, past empty room that had never been lived in and probably never would.

 

Even though it had been over an hour since she had left them in the parlour, Selina was still awake. She pretended to be asleep, of course, but Bruce could see the way her body stiffened slightly as he walked in, hear the slight increase in her breaths. He changed slowly and slid into bed next to her. “Timmy’s parents finally came back from their travels. We believe it to be them, at least. It’s either Mr and Mrs Drake or some very bold thieves.” She sighed and leant further into his chest.  
“He’ll be going home soon?” His hand unconsciously stroked her dark hair and he hesitated before he replied.  
“He has to. He doesn’t belong to us as much as we might wish he did.” Selina sat up and faced him, eyes hard and lip pressed together in a thin, angry line.  
“I have little good to say about the Drakes. Imagine leaving your child all alone and just forgetting about him! They’re not fit to be parents if they’d rather be off gallivanting around the world with archaeologists.” Her fury came from the heart. Selina always stood by the underdog, the abandoned, the downtrodden, the needy, it was just one of the reasons he’d fallen in love with her. She was as devoted to justice as he was, albeit in a slightly different way.  
“And I agree with you, Selina, absolutely, but Timmy loves his parents, he always has and we have to do what’s best for him. If Tim wants to be with them, then I don’t see that we have any other option but to let him.” It was true. Tim loved his parents far more than they deserved (and Bruce would be having words with them before he let them anywhere near the boy about exactly what it was they had given up when they left him alone in that house) and had never truly stopped believing they would one day come back for him. It had estranged him from his brothers for a while: they had settled in quickly at Wayne Manor and had accepted Bruce, Alfred and Selina as family because they had no one else whereas Timmy had refused to. Before the truth of Tim’s situation had come to life, Bruce had thought that perhaps he’d undergone some immense trauma that prevented him from making familial attachments, even though he remained joined to Dickie and Jason by the hip. He’d been getting better about it recently, opening up more about his life, telling stories about his family’s travels (although it was painfully obvious that he’d never been present for they were a mix of over-exaggerated folk tales and out right fantasies). It was cruel that just when Timmy had finally found the family he’d longed for for so long, it was being torn from his grasp by the return of his parents who’d never much cared for children anyway, from what little Bruce could recall of them. It was a problem to be solved in the morning, he decided, when his head was less muddled and he wasn’t ruled by exhausted emotion.

 

In the morning, Tim confessed that he was half expecting for his parents to leave again without even coming to visit. While they made social calls for business, they didn’t have many friends outside of the circle of historians and academic types that they took pleasure in meeting outside of the normal social gatherings. If they were not planning on staying in Gotham for long they would assume their child was safe and well fed and leave him be. If they were staying for more than a few days they would collect him so they could drag him to whatever galas and society functions they planned to attend in the following months before they departed for the next stage in their world trip. It saddened Bruce that his youngest couldn’t see that to his birth parents he was but a trophy, the token child to prove that the Drakes were upstanding moral citizens. He hoped they never came to see their child. His hopes were dashed by breakfast when Alfred set a letter by his teacup from Jack Drake.

 

Jack Drake wanted to talk business. It was clear from the moment he sat down in Bruce’s office that he had no intention of inquiring about Timmy and Bruce wasn’t at all sure he knew that the boy was there. Selina had popped her head around the door to tell him she was taking the children outside to run around and Mr Drake had made no mention of his son, although he had made some rather suggestive comments about Selina once she left. He wanted to merge their companies. It didn’t surprise Bruce: the factories the Drake family owned had been suffering without a guiding hand and Mr and Mrs Drake showed no signs of wanting to be present to fix the problem. With no business ties to Gotham, they were free to travel as much as they wanted. “What about Timothy?” Bruce asked him, “do you not want something for him to inherit when he comes of age?” Jack looked at him blankly, it was not an uncommon expression for him, Bruce gathered, for Jack Drake had none of Timmy’s sharp wit or fierce control.  
“Timothy will be fine, I’m sure.” It wasn’t reassuring. Regardless of his thoughts on the matter, Jack refused to take no for an answer and it wasn’t long before they were hashing out the final details. Bruce begged off signing contracts or sale agreements until he’d spoken to Lucius and recommended that Mr Drake at least inform his lawyers of the transfer. As Alfred retrieved his coat and they spoke in the drawing-room, Tim wandered in, stamping off mud and flicking mist off his coat sleeves. He stopped short upon seeing Mr Drake.  
“Father?” he asked, disbelieving, and Bruce saw his arms wrap around his body in a mockery of a hug - a habit Tim had picked up over the years for when he was uncertain.  
“Hello, Timothy. Your mother will be coming later to take you home, don’t worry.” It was a supremely awkward affair. Neither seemed to know what to do about the other’s existence, Jack Drake’s well-meaning blustering was at odds with Tim’s usual reticence and it left a bad taste in everyone’s throat. Alfred returned with the coat and Mr Drake left, pausing to stiffly ruffle Tim’s hair and to tip his hat to Bruce.

 

Bruce paused outside Timmy’s door, fist raised to knock. He could hear all three boys talking and it hit him suddenly that this may be the last time they were in the same room all together for a long time. He didn’t want to intrude on them but he knew that he had to talk to Tim, tell him just how much he would be missed. He didn’t think Tim would realise otherwise. He rapped his knuckles on the door and heard all conversation stop. He opened the door and saw Jason swivel to face him. They’d laid a carpetbag on the bed and were filling it with clothes from Timmy’s wardrobe as well as a few books from the library shelves and some trifles they’d picked up on their own travels. Dickie grabbed Jason’s hand and dragged him from the room, leaving Bruce and Timmy alone. Tim broke the silence. “I really didn’t expect them to come back this time. I gave up months ago.”  
“I know, son.” He knew Tim truly had thought they’d forgotten about him, that they weren’t coming back, but it spoke volumes about Tim’s devotion that he hadn’t accepted it until relatively recently.  
“Can I come and visit sometimes? I’d like to see Dickie and Jay and I don’t think I could stand to not know what was going on at night.”  
“Of course you can, don’t even hesitate to ask.” If there was one thing that was constant about Tim, and one thing that Bruce occasionally wished hellfire upon the Drakes for, it was the belief that he wasn’t wanted, wasn’t welcome, and would soon be forgotten if he wasn’t physically present. It had caused some problems in the past, just as Jason’s food hoarding had, and Dickie’s never-ending performance, but he’d been getting over it. Now he was going back to that dusty old tomb of a house that he’d been left alone in for so long. He picked up a shirt from the foot of the bed, crumpled it and tossed it in the bag. Alfred would throw a fit if he saw but Alfred was busy and Tim hadn’t wanted the butler’s help with this task. “Selina would be better at this than me,” he said, and the topic was open ended deliberately. Tim folded a sock and tucked it into the corner.  
“You’re doing alright.”  
“You don’t have to do this alone; we’re always going to be right here for you, just across the garden wall.” He held up a book for Tim to decide, Treasure Island, and when Tim nodded he put it on top of the growing pile in the bag.  
“I’ll make sure to come around when I can.”  
“I know you will, son.”

 

Janet Drake and Timothy were very similar, Bruce realised as soon as Mrs Drake walked into the room. Both of them were sharp as a knife, both had the same icy blue eyes and porcelain skin. Timmy’s hair was perhaps a shade or two darker and his stature a tad sturdier but in almost all ways but their demeanors they were the same. Where Timmy was smart but casual, Janet was aloof and condescending, where Timmy was modest, even timid, Janet seemed to take up the room with herself. She was cold as ice and Bruce decided he hated her. She swept in, hair perfectly pinned under a pale purple hat, and simply called for Timothy without so much as looking in Bruce’s direction. Even Alfred looked briefly affronted before his mask of quiet deference slipped back into place. The boys came clattering down the stairs and he saw her lip curl in derision. 

“There you are, Timothy,” she snapped, “now come along, your father and I are meeting Mr Channing from the university for luncheon and we mustn’t be late.” She held out a sleek gloved hand which Timmy took and swept out the door again. The door swung shut with a finality that was almost painful. They looked at each other solemnly, each not quite sure what to do now that their little family was missing a member. Jason broke the silence. 

“Well she was a bitch.” 

 

Life went on as normal in Wayne manor. Dick and Jason ran rampant with only Selina and sometimes Alfred able to rein them in. Bruce caught up on some paperwork that Lucius had been asking him with steadily increasing urgency to complete. Selina took on the terrifying task of befriending Janet Drake and failed fantastically but was undeterred and tried again. Bruce didn’t think much of her chances, given what he’d seen of the Drakes, but Selina was hopeful despite the constant rebuttals. Alfred had to retrieve Dick from the tree closest to the garden wall one afternoon when he decided that if Timmy couldn’t come back to see them, he’d go to see Timmy. No one thought the appearance of another child, and one of Bruce’s infamous street orphans at that, would have gone over well but no one had the heart to tell him so. Their night time routine stayed the same, too. Bruce would retrieve Dick and Jason, usually from the library or nursery, and take them downstairs to the cave where they’d suit up and go out on the town. They’d station themselves on rooftops across the worst areas of Gotham, moving in patterns following a set route, and wait for crime to happen. If the criminals were smart (and they sometimes were) they’d catch a glimpse of Batman, Robin or Magpie lying in wait and slink off home without incident, if not then one of them would be waiting for them to start something. For the most part, the low level crime they dealt with on the average night was easy to stop. If it was bigger than a few people, then they would team up to take them down. Those were the best nights, when they worked together as a flawless team, barely even having to speak to guess each other’s next move. It wasn’t what Batman had expected or wanted when he’d formulated his grand plan for Gotham’s salvation but he loved it. He couldn’t imagine Batman without his boys by his side, even if sometimes he felt an absence where a boy, whip smart and small as a mouse, should be.

 

Batman and Robin were patrolling late, gathering evidence against yet another mob threatening the streets while Magpie, who was usually more than happy to pick up the slack in such investigations, stayed at home to assist Alfred with some cleaning. They perched on a roof and watched the men below as they whispered to each other in the dark. One of them had a knife but that wasn’t reason for Batman and Robin to come out: it was Gotham, everyone in Gotham had a knife. Robin stiffened and swiveled his head. They did not speak but with a brief movement, Robin told Batman he’d heard something behind them. Batman allowed him to go and investigate with a sweep of his hand, without getting close enough to hear their whispers, thus giving away their position, they wouldn’t be getting any information that night. Robin came back only a few moments later for he had found nothing to speak of, only a few crushed leaves on the roof tiles opposite and a loose stretch of guttering that had previously been tightly nailed down. He was concerned, Batman could read it in his face as clear as day, but he he trusted Batman’s judgement and if he told Robin to let it alone he would. They made their way back to the cave in silence.

 

The mob was controlled by Cluemaster because Arthur Brown was a sneaking, conniving ratbag who hadn’t done an honest day’s work in his life. He was smart, Batman would give him that, but not smart enough to take his little girl into account. She had seen the pictures in the papers of Selina helping Batman out of the raging fire of the Gotham World’s Fair and had taken it upon herself to stop her father when he started to cause problems again. She had evidently done a rushed job of her costume, mutilating a petticoat to make a pair of loose fitting trousers that she tucked into her stockings and making herself a mask from scraps of curtain. Her cloak and mask was the ugliest shade of purple he’d ever seen, though Batman knew little of women’s fashion, and her black leather boots had holes in the heel that squeaked when she walked. She was the poor man’s vigilante and she looked it, but she’d given them the clues they needed to catch Cluemaster and put him away before anyone died. Reluctantly, he praised her, though he knew if he gave too much encouragement he would never convince her to stay safely at home. As they separated, she threw a final comment over her shoulder that caused Robin to stop dead and Batman to take note of her retreating form. “You had a stalker. Glocky little nipper was getting too close and snapping pictures so I gave him a good ol’ dewskitch with a brick. Don’t worry, he ain’t dead but he’ll have a hell of a blinker tomorrow.”

 

It didn’t quite sink in until they were home, until Bruce was in bed next to Selina and the lights were out and he could think without Dick or Jason constantly questioning him. A child had been following them, most likely the same person Dick had looked for but couldn’t find some nights previous, and that was alarming in and of itself but a child was following them around Gotham with a camera. Cameras weren’t widely used yet; they were expensive and inefficient and for the most part difficult to use and carry. And yet this child was running around Gotham, at night, with no supervision, with an expensive and unwieldy piece of equipment, without being caught, or even seen. He wondered how Stephanie had managed it, doubtless she had seen him and sneaked up on him, but she hadn’t know to be looking for anyone, even Jason hadn’t known and Dick only had suspicions. He needed to find out who their stalker was. He couldn’t knowingly allow the child of one of Gotham’s upper class to run loose around the city in such a manner, couldn’t knowingly allow any child to do so really but the children of Skinner’s End and Burnside were tough, Jason and Stephanie could attest to that. He resolved to find the boy, next time he saw movement from the corner of his eye or heard a muted click from a few rooftops over.

 

He didn’t find him.

 

Stephanie had apparently made such an impression on this boy that he’d started following her around instead which would be a relief except Stephanie tended to seek out the most dangerous criminals to grind beneath her squeaky heel. This resulted in her getting in over her head but being unable to step away so Batman often told Magpie to seek her out and keep an eye on her. Two weeks in, she’d caused a gang war and almost got herself killed and Batman had had more than enough. He told her to hang up the cape before she actually died. She didn’t listen. The next week she almost let a host of dangerous criminals out of Blackgate by accident and he told her in no uncertain terms that if she didn’t stay at home he would find a way to make her. After that she got smarter, started thinking a little more, even if she did attract trouble to her like moths to a flame. When asked, she said the stalker “ain’t actually a mug sometimes,” and that he’d helped her out occasionally. She hadn’t hit him with anymore bricks and Batman was relieved that both children seemed to be looking out for one another. He didn’t ask to meet him.

 

Bruce took Jason and Dick to the gala even though they protested because he had heard the Drakes might be there and if the Drakes were there they might have brought Timmy with them. He was right in his assumption and as soon as the boys saw each other they were joined at the hip. It was as if they had never been separated and it warmed Bruce’s heart to see them together again. He spoke with Jack Drake about their business for a short while, tipped his hat to Janet, and continued on his round of the room. He danced a rousing polka with Selina before she, laughing, sought out a waiter for some more wine and he went searching for his boys. They were sequestered in a corner, as he’d expected, trying to cause some subtle mischief without his noticing. They seemed to be enjoying themselves and he was loathe to spoil their fun but when he saw Jason toss a slice of cucumber under Mr Wilson’s foot he knew he would have to step in. “Are you having fun, boys?” he asked and they all spun guiltily to look at him. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t see what you did to poor old Mr Wilson, Jay but don’t do it again, do you hear me?” Jason raised his chin as if to argue and Bruce stared him down until he gulped and his gaze turned instead to the floor. “Good. Timmy, your parents are still talking to some people so you’re free of them for a little longer,” he winked and chuckled, playing up the Brucie persona that had served him so well in his youth, and Tim grinned. “We’ve missed you around the manor, come visit sometime.” He went to find Selina for another dance, trusting Dick to keep the others in line.

 

It wasn’t until he finally persuaded Stephanie to hang up her cape for a few more years that Batman noticed the boy was following them again. It wasn’t obvious, or often, but at least once a night he’d hear that signature click of a camera shutter or the scuffling of a child’s feet. More than once he sent Robin or Magpie to find him but they always came back with nothing. It was frustrating but unsurprising: the boy had become used to Stephanie and also to sneaking around unseen, it was only natural that he wouldn’t want to be caught by the Batman. It was a surprise, therefore, when they finally came face to face on a hot summer night, that the boy didn’t run. He was surprisingly unkempt, with a dirty face and tatty clothes. His hands were spotless, probably because he was being so careful of his camera, but his trousers were filthy. His hair and nails were neatly trimmed and that was what gave away the whole charade, though his head was covered by an old cap that shadowed his face. “Children shouldn’t be out this late,” he growled but the boy didn’t flinch.  
“Are Robin and Magpie not children?” That was definitely a rich man’s child: no street kid spoke with such proper diction.  
“Robin and Magpie are highly trained and accustomed to late nights. It’s not safe for you to be here. Go home.” He knew as he said it that the boy wouldn’t listen. He was too invested in his adventures, too reckless. Children always believe they are infallible until someone cuts their strings.

 

The Drakes left again, of course, and they left Tim with a governess, of course, but Tim still didn’t come to the manor. Bruce was concerned but tried not to show it: he knew Timmy could fend for himself if he had to, though he’d rather he didn’t. He sent Jason over to invite him for dinner but he was turned away and told not to return. The next week he sent Dick with much the same response. It was intriguing. There was nothing they could do in the daytime, however, so instead he sent both boys over at night, in full Robin and Magpie regalia. They came back to him on patrol and told him Timmy wasn’t there. Bruce couldn’t even pretend he wasn’t concerned now. Where was Tim and why wasn’t he tucked up in bed like all the other boys his age? The Bat-signal lit up the sky and shook him from his musings. He turned towards it and as he did so heard a click of a camera from the next building over. “Go find that kid who’s taking pictures,” he told the boys. “Meet me at the signal in ten minutes.” The game was afoot and he was ready to go.

 

He wasn’t expecting the boys to bring the kid with them, though in hindsight he probably should have. The GCPD building wasn’t far from where they had been and it was an easy route to follow; Robin and Magpie likely hadn’t known what to do with their stalker or perhaps they wanted Batman to scare him off as a joke. Nonetheless, the boys appeared on the roof slightly less than ten minutes later with a scruffy kid in tow and Batman groaned inwardly. Something about the way they were behaving was different however. Robin and Magpie stayed close to the boy with wide grins and bouncing steps that they only used around people they knew. The kid seemed larger than when Batman had last spoken to him, less timid and uncertain, even though he was surrounded by people who were undoubtedly his idols. He saw Magpie give him a rough shoulder shove and laugh and he realised who it was. Magpie would only do that to two people in the whole world. One of them was Robin. The cap was gone and in the light of the Bat-signal, his face was finally visible. “Tim,” he sighed, resigned, “what do you think you’re doing?” Tim didn’t reply immediately, instead focusing on his shoes.  
“Mother and Father didn’t want me to visit you at the manor so I was following you.” Batman felt new hatred for the Drakes rise up in his chest at the words. What kind of parents isolated their child from his closest friends? But that didn’t explain why he didn’t just go to the manor at night instead of making the dangerous journey through Gotham late at night. He knew Timmy wasn’t afraid of it, he’d lived it after all, but he could have avoided so much unnecessary danger and Tim was smart enough to know that. When he told the boy so he was outraged. “I promised them,” he said miserably, “and I never break a promise.” There was something hard in his voice, something defiant and pleading and altogether too desperate to be present in the voice of a child.  
“Take him home, Magpie. Robin, stay with me for now.”

 

Privately, he’d hoped that Jason would interpret ‘take him home’ as ‘take Tim back to his own house so I don’t have to deal with it’ but Bruce had never had good luck so Jason took Tim back to the manor. They were in the parlour with freshly baked cookies and milk when he found them and Selina was admiring Tim’s camera while Tim showed her all the different functions and explained how they worked. This evidently wasn’t a mere childish hobby but a skill that had been honed with time and practice. Perhaps he would ask to see some of Tim’s photographs later; he was curious to see how they looked. Jason’s head snapped up as Bruce entered. He shoved an entire cookie in his mouth, stuck two more in his pockets, and drained his glass of milk in one gulp before announcing that he was going to bed and that Alfred had made Tim up a bed in their room if he wanted to stay the night. Tim looked to Bruce and it hurt his heart a little that the boy felt the need to ask permission but he gave it anyway. “You really should stay, Tim, we’d only worry if we sent you home alone. Alfred can take you round tomorrow morning after breakfast.” The smile on his face lit up the room and Bruce knew he’d made the right choice. Serious conversations could wait.

 

“You want him to stay here again, don’t you?” Selina was more beautiful by moonlight than she was in the day, if it were possible. She constantly took his breath away and she, siren-like, could convince him to yield to her every whim. She was not unintelligent either, though her expertise lay less in deductive reasoning and more in gut instinct and knowledge of the body’s base urges. Sometimes he thought she knew him better than he knew himself.  
“He can’t possibly stay in that house alone, not if he’s going to follow us on patrol.” She lay her head on his chest and her hair was like a silk scarf on his bare skin. His hand moved almost against his will to smooth it, fingers gently teasing out the few tangles in the waves of her dark locks.  
“Hmm,” she sighed, “you’re right, of course, but he won’t see it that way. How are you going to convince him?” Her eyes were dark pools that held a million stars in their depths; he could spend eternity watching them change with her emotions: dancing when she laughed and flinty with anger when she fought for justice. Now they were still, deep and thoughtful and intensely wonderful. “He’s not Jason,” she continued, “who you can persuade with a warm meal and a roof to sleep under or Dick who has nowhere else to go.” She lifted her head from his chest and propped herself up on one elbow to stare at him, the curve of her body visible through the sheets and oh, how he missed the warmth of her body now she wasn’t pressed against him.  
“I don’t know,” he replied and she shook her head in disappointment but pressed herself closer anyway. He stole a kiss from her as she did so and she grinned at him mischievously, that rebellious glint in her eye again.  
“If you figure it out, I promise you’ll like the reward,” she purred, stroking one hand down his chest to rest at the waist of his pajamas. He kissed her again, deeper and slower and fuller than before, and then his mind stopped altogether.

 

He tried to have a conversation with Tim before he left. Selina had been sending him significant looks over the breakfast table and he knew the boys had noticed too so when the table had been cleared he asked Tim to take a walk with him in the garden. It was awkward and stilted and ended with Tim going back to his house with Alfred anyway. He had at least elicited a promise not to follow them around Gotham on patrol, by persuading him that the Batcave was not a part of the manor and therefore not covered by his parent’s rule to not come to the manor to visit (though Bruce did not remind him of it, it was painfully obvious that Tim knew the promise to his parents had already been broken. He was, after all, currently walking in Bruce Wayne’s garden and had stayed the night in Bruce Wayne’s house.) Having reminded him that they were only only a short walk away should he need them for any reason, Bruce relinquished him into Alfred’s care.

 

They didn’t see Tim for over a week after his impromptu visit, though Jason had been over twice and had been turned away both times by the housekeeper so they knew there was at least someone in the house. After two weeks, Tim made his way to the Batcave for the first time and Dick and Jason spent a memorable night teaching him various fighting tricks to pass the time while they were benched, Dick with a sprained wrist and Jason for disobeying orders and pursuing some low level thugs rather than waiting for the GCPD to pick up the Marconi henchmen he was supposed to be identifying. It became a twice weekly occurrence and each time, they would congregate in the parlour for cookies and milk before Tim would sneak back over the wall to his own house, accompanied by either Dick or Jason. Bruce knew Tim sometimes ventured into the city as well, to visit Stephanie whom he had curated a strong bond with, though it was less frequent and thus much less dangerous, especially when conducted by daylight. As one month turned into two and then three, it became a new routine, part of their normal everyday life. Then Tim stopped visiting.

 

It hit the news two days after Tim’s first missed cave visit. The headline was as brutally honest as they always were: ‘Gotham couple killed in Baghdad!’ It became obvious why Tim hadn’t visited. Dick immediately proposed a trip to visit him, to comfort him in his grief, but Alfred gently suggested that he wait. “Let him come to you when he’s ready, Master Dick,” he’d said, “let him have time.”

 

Tim came back to the manor, pale and drawn but healthy enough. Dick immediately tried to smother him and Jason gave him a brief pat on the shoulder which, from him, was the equivalent of a bear hug, and some whispered words of encouragement that was for them only. He ate little and spoke less but he waited every night in the cave for them to return from patrol and if Bruce asked how he was doing the corner of his lips would quirk upwards in a small, half-hearted smile. He attended the funeral alone and returned with tear tracks on his face and a tear in his suit jacket that everyone pretended not to see. At his request, Alfred covered all the mirrors and no one questioned why just like they didn’t question the meal of boiled eggs that they had after the funeral or that Bruce didn’t shave for a week when Tim told him it was a mourning custom for his parents’ family. Tim’s belongings were collected from a mansion that was gathering dust and taken back to the manor where they lay in a paltry pile in his room for a week before being put away. His parent’s will was read and Bruce was fuming by the time it was over: they had left nothing for Tim but a vague mention that he should be left in the care of an uncle that Tim had never heard of and couldn’t be contacted through any legal channels. Bruce asked the court for custody and was given it. It wasn’t much consolation. All the beautiful artifacts and incredible books the Drakes had collected and Tim had grown up with were left to the museum and the university that had taken so much of their time. The house itself had been donated to the archaeological society. Their business had been officially signed over to Bruce months before. They hadn’t left him a penny to his name and God only knows what would have happened to the boy had Bruce not decided to finish what he’d started all those weeks and months before and take him in permanently.

 

It took time but the grief faded, just as all grief does. Tim learned to smile again, and to laugh, though he remained quiet for the most part. As his appetite increased, so too did his energy and soon he had rejoined Dickie and Jason in the cave, practicing acrobatics or lightly sparring, or even suggesting battle tactics. His skill with the camera, though honed in a time of loneliness, proved invaluable in their cases, especially when paired with his natural instinct for deduction and detective work. He could pick out the details of a crime scene almost before Bruce could. He settled, like a bird in its nest, and their little family had never been happier to be together. Though he knew it caused him pain and he didn’t wish the grief of losing one’s parents on anyone, Bruce was almost glad for the sorry news, for it meant that Tim had finally come home.

**Author's Note:**

> Steph has made an appearance! I know continuity wise this doesn't work at all and she's definitely not Batgirl (because that's for Babs) but I read a comic with her in (I think it was a Detective Comics one but I can't remember, it was a while ago) and wanted her to appear with Tim. Definitely wanted that 'I hit him in the face with a brick' first meeting 😂)  
> I found out last week that robin was Victorian slang for 'a young child beggar' and just was so shocked because it honestly wasn't planned at all and I honestly doubt DC planned it that way when they made Gotham by Gaslight.  
> Steph absolutely uses the thickest Gotham street slang imaginable, I don't make the rules.  
> As a rough translation: "Glocky little nipper was getting too close and snapping pictures so I gave him a good ol’ dewskitch with a brick. Don’t worry, he ain’t dead but he’ll have a hell of a blinker tomorrow.” is "half-witted little kid was getting too close and taking photos so I beat him up with a brick. Don't worry, he's not dead but he'll have a really bad black eye tomorrow."  
> I think that's all the slang this time but if you catch anything else let me know.  
> I know it's not entirely canon but I was reading a fic where Tim's family was Jewish (I think Bruce is canonically Jewish in some continuities but I'm not sure?) and I liked the idea so Tim's Jewish now! The mourning practices mentioned (tearing clothing at the funeral, covering the mirrors etc. are parts of traditional Jewish mourning traditions according to wikipedia. if I've got anything wrong, tell me and I'll correct it. I've tried to be as sensitive and correct as possible but I'm not Jewish myself so I don't want to be disrespectful to anyone who is.
> 
> Kudos and comments keep me alive in times of trouble so please give me feedback!! (I promise I read every comment, no matter how short and treasure them forever)


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